


i cannot get you close enough

by spiralpegasus



Series: Sylvix Week 2019 [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crying, Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Minor Suggestive Themes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weddings, blue lions being dumb friends with each other, happy crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 10:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralpegasus/pseuds/spiralpegasus
Summary: Morale is low on a march, and everyone loves a celebration.Or, Felix and Sylvain get unofficially married, and everyone gets more emotional than expected.Sylvix Week 2019 Day Five: Tears





	i cannot get you close enough

**Author's Note:**

> title is from 100 years from f+tm, because im physically incapable of coming up with a title that isnt a song lyric
> 
> unbeta'd bc i just want to post this before day five is over aaaaaaa
> 
> everyone's sappy and nothing hurts

“We need something to lift our spirits,” Byleth says, resting her elbows on the pile of crates they use as a war table when they’re on march.

“What do you mean? Morale’s _great,”_ Sylvain says sarcastically. Rain drums on the outside of the tacticians’ tent. There’s a puddle of water leaking in under the flap serving as the door. It’s been raining on and off for most of their march south, and though their army hasn’t taken any hits it can’t recover from, the Imperial forces harassing their flanks have done significant damage.

“Morale is awful,” Dimitri protests. He blinks, pauses, and his mouth forms an _oh_ of understanding. “Ah. You were being facetious.”

“What gave you that idea,” Felix interjects flatly.

“Don’t be unkind,” Mercedes chides him. “We’re all very tired.”

“Which is why we need to figure out a way to boost morale.” Byleth drums her fingers on the wood of their makeshift table. “Hopefully the rain will clear up soon. That will work wonders.”

“If we could scrape together some kind of tasty meal, that would probably help, too,” Annette says. She taps a thoughtful finger against her bottom lip. “We’re doing okay for rations, but something special could perk folks up.”

“People love celebrations,” Ashe adds. “I know there aren’t any holidays coming up, but we could make something up? Give everyone a day to have fun and relax?”

“This is all well and good, but do we really have time for frivolities like this?” Ingrid folds her arms, her brow furrowed.

“Forcing our soldiers to march when they’re hating every second of their jobs isn’t doing us a lot of good, either,” Byleth says dryly.

“I agree with Ashe,” Dedue puts in. He doesn’t say anything else, despite the pause the rest of the group offers him.

“Someone should get married,” Annette declares suddenly.

Everyone turns to look at her with wildly different expressions on their faces. “What?” Felix asks her, mostly just baffled. If it was anyone else, he’d probably be angry, but it’s Annette.

“Yeah, what?” Sylvain says. “How’d we get from morale to marriage?”

Mercedes claps her hands together. “Oh, I see! We could make a celebration out of it! And seeing two people swear their futures to one another will surely remind everyone what they’re fighting for!”

“It sounds romantic,” Ashe sighs with a smile.

Dedue frowns. “We do not have anyone to officiate the wedding,” he points out.

“Nonsense,” Dimitri says. “It need not be official in legal terms, if it is just for morale. Besides, our dear Professor was tasked with leading the church by the Archbishop herself, was she not?”

“I was,” Byleth says, making a face.

“So even if she is not ordained, I would say she is more than qualified to officiate a marriage.” Dimitri leans back in his chair, looking satisfied.

“But who’s getting married?” Ingrid asks.

Very slowly, every face in the tent turns to look at Sylvain and Felix.

“No,” Felix says at the exact moment Sylvain says, “Sure, why not?”

“What, you don’t want to marry me?” Sylvain whines, draping himself over Felix’s shoulders. “I thought you _loooooved_ me!”

“Shut up!” Felix ineffectually shoves at Sylvain, his face slowly turning pink. “Just because I—” He stops, scowls, and lowers his voice. “Just because I love you doesn’t mean I want to marry you in the middle of nowhere in front of the entire army,” he hisses.

“Aw, you love him,” Annette coos.

“Aw, he loves him,” Mercedes echoes, only a hint of mischief in her benevolent smile.

“So Sylvain and Felix are getting married,” Byleth says, jotting something down on her parchment.

“I never agreed to this,” Felix says petulantly. He’s not kicking up a big enough fuss for it to be actual anger behind his protests, so everyone ignores him.

“Mercie and I will figure out a cake!” Annette practically vibrates in her seat. “We’ll make it spicy instead of sweet,” she interrupts when Felix opens his mouth. “Lysithea makes stuff you actually like, right? We’ll ask her for help.”

“Dedue and I can figure out something for flowers,” Ashe says, hopping out of his chair and latching onto Dedue’s arm. He bounces on his toes, clearly excited, and completely misses the fond way Dedue glances down at him. “We’re far enough south that there should be plenty of pretty wildflowers!”

“Does anyone know what people actually say to officiate weddings?” Byleth asks delicately.

Everyone is silent.

“Just make something up,” Ingrid offers. Byleth sighs.

“This is going to be the worst wedding ceremony ever,” Sylvain says, a huge grin on his red-tinged face. “I’m so excited. Felix, are you excited?”

“Whatever,” Felix says.

“He’s so excited,” Sylvain whispers to the tent at large.

“Saints alive, your father is going to kill you, Sylvain,” Dimitri says with a laugh. “You’ve practically eloped!”

“I hope he tries,” Felix says with a scowl. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to kill that old bastard for—”

“We need rings!” Sylvain interrupts with very little grace. 

Ashe taps his fingers on Dedue’s arm, which he doesn’t seem to realize he’s still holding. “We have some of the enchanted ones from the armory.”

“Those will do,” Byleth says approvingly. “You two, pick one out for each other by the time the ceremony comes around.”

“Wait, how soon are we planning to do this?” Sylvain asks. He’s still on top of Felix, and his weight is making Felix list slowly to one side. “I need to prepare a romantic speech!”

“If you mention anything about your dick in your vows, I’m leaving you,” Felix says.

Sylvain turns his face against Felix’s shoulder, laughing. “There goes half my speech.”

“Nothing about my ass, either.”

“There goes the other half.”

“Please keep the wedding vows family-friendly,” Byleth says.

“Maybe Mercedes and Annette should get married instead,” Sylvain replies, still shaking with laughter.

“Oh, no,” Mercedes says serenely. “Mine would be much worse.”

“They most certainly would not be,” Dimitri says in a tone of voice that suggests that he has no way to be sure of that.

“I’d just start crying super hard and then say something about her boobs, probably,” Annette puts in.

“They’re very nice… breasts,” Ingrid says haltingly. Her eyes keep flickering down to Mercedes’s chest and back up again, like she’s trying not to stare.

Mercedes smiles peacefully. “Yes, they are.”

Sylvain hooks his arms around Felix and tugs the both of them back upright before they fall onto the floor. “Felix has nice tits, too!”

“Why don’t you ever shut up,” Felix says weakly.

“He’s right, though,” Ashe says, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth, cheeks red.

“He… does have a very well-muscled chest.” Dimitri’s single eye lingers on Felix’s torso.

“Why do none of you ever shut up,” Felix amends.

Sylvain nuzzles Felix’s neck with his nose. “We just want you to feel included!” he coos.

“Don’t. I don’t want to be included.”

“It is futile to resist,” Dedue says wearily.

“Aw, don’t be sad, Dedue. We think your tits are great, too,” Annette chirps. Ashe studies Dedue’s chest, with which he is just about eye level.

Dedue shares a long-suffering stare with Felix. “You see.”

“Anyway, just don’t talk about tits in your wedding vows,” Byleth interrupts, her voice light with repressed laughter. “Yours or anyone else’s.”

Sylvain sticks his tongue out at her. “Boo.”

“We’ll plan for the wedding in one week’s time. It’s not much time to prepare, but morale needs a boost now, not later.” Byleth taps her papers on the table to straighten them out. “Meeting adjourned.”

* * *

The wedding, if it can be called that, is a very modest affair. They set up a little altar with supply crates and swathes of spare fabric draped over tent poles. Ashe and Dedue gathered some colorful wildflowers from a nearby meadow, their bright petals scattering the grass by the altar and peeking out of vases. The refreshments consist of rations with slightly more expensive seasoning, as well as whatever sweets Annette, Mercedes, and Lysithea could make without an oven to bake things in. Still, even preparing for the occasion has more and more members of the army smiling, of only at the silliness of the whole notion.

_I’ll get him a nicer ring after the war,_ Sylvain catches himself thinking as he fiddles with the ring from the convoy that’s supposedly been enchanted to increase accuracy. What a thought – after the war. There’s going to be an _after_ once all this bloodshed and violence is through.

Annette really was onto something with the whole wedding thing, apparently.

It’s hardly a proper ceremony, but Sylvain is antsy anyway. In the absence of formal wedding apparel, he’s polished his armor as nicely as he can and thrown one of his fancier capes on over it. Felix is probably doing something similar. Sylvain hopes he keeps the thigh-high spats on. He loves the spats. He is now imagining Felix in nothing _but_ the spats, which could become a problem very quickly.

Annette laughingly shooed him away from the tent Felix is getting ready in, citing some superstition about it being bad luck for the spouses to see each other before the ceremony. As is generally tradition for same-sex couples, they’re going to be led to the altar down opposite aisles at the same time, so Sylvain’s not going to see Felix until they’re at the altar together.

Which… is going to be very soon, actually. His heart jumps and stutters, and his stomach feels like it’s full of birds. He’s going to insist on a more traditional ceremony too once they’re back home if only to spite his father, but this feels real. He and Felix are going to bind their lives together, officially, in front of their friends, in front of the Goddess.

“Hey,” Ingrid whispers from the tent flap. She pokes her head in. There are flowers woven into her hair, and her armor gleams in the sunlight. There’s a touch of makeup around her eyes. It makes Sylvain a little emotional that she’d pretty herself up for the occasion. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice coming out surprisingly choked. He clears his throat and repeats more clearly, “Yeah.”

Ingrid offers him her arm with a smile. “Come on, then. Your beloved awaits.”

He takes her arm and lets her lead him out into the little meadow they’re using for the ceremony. Countless soldiers shift around in the designated areas, marked by various objects laid in the grass. Two long gaps in the crowd form the aisles he and Felix will walk down.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Ingrid says, patting his elbow. Her eyes gleam with good humor. “If you mess this up, you can have a do-over back in Faerghus, when we all go home.”

“I—I’d like that,” Sylvain says hoarsely. Not just the wedding, but going home. Everyone making it home alive.

Ingrid smiles at him one last time. The music starts up, and it sounds more like a drunken mockery of a wedding march than anything else – these are soldiers, not musicians. He moves with Ingrid as she begins to walk him to the altar.

Beside the altar are their inner circle of friends. Dedue, Ashe, Mercedes, and Annette all cling to each other in an emotional line; Annette is already crying a little. Lysithea and Bernadetta are closer to Felix’s side, and Lysithea is standing on her tiptoes, presumably to watch Felix walk. Dorothea gives Sylvain a little wave from where she’s hanging off of Petra’s arm, and Marianne is wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. No one is frowning. No one is glaring.

Sylvain thinks that this is a better wedding than he’ll ever get in Faerghus, surrounded by nobility hiding their judgment behind fake smiles.

“There he is,” Ingrid whispers. The crowd seems to part just a little, and Sylvain stops short as Felix emerges, led by Dimitri.

He’s not in anything special – just his battle gear, cleaned up and polished. He looks softer, though. Gentler, happier. His bangs fall in gentle waves around his face, reminiscent of his father and his brother. Two small braids, woven with wildflowers, pull the rest of his hair back into a feathery ponytail. His eyes meet Sylvain’s almost immediately, and he stops too, lips parting.

_Goddess, I want to kiss him,_ Sylvain thinks as Ingrid nudges him gently in the ribs.

Dimitri has cleaned himself up for the occasion, too, his black armor gleaming in the sun and his hair pulled back into a small, neat braid. He places a hand on Felix’s shoulder and gently – and it must be gently, because Felix only moves when he starts to walk again himself – pulls Felix forward.

“Dearly beloved,” Byleth says, somewhat awkwardly from the altar, “we are gathered here to unite these two people in a bond of love and marriage.”

In all likelihood, she’s wildly incorrect and just guessing from what she remembers about weddings from reading about them. Sylvain doesn’t care one bit as he and Felix stand on the altar, close enough to touch.

“If anyone, um.” She stops, glances around the crowd, and continues. “Well, I doubt anyone has anything to say in protest. If you do, feel free to say something, but Felix brought his sword and I’m pretty sure he’ll fight you on it.”

A chuckle ripples through the crowd. It’s significantly more nervous among the people who don’t know Felix personally.

“Who gives this man to be wed?” Byleth asks, glancing at Sylvain.

“I do,” Ingrid says. She smiles tearfully up at Sylvain, rocking up on her toes to press a tender kiss to his cheek.

“And who gives this man to be wed?” Byleth asks of Felix.

“I do,” Dimitri says, his voice already rough with tears. He pulls Felix into a hug, his larger frame practically enveloping Felix’s leaner one. Felix grumbles something unsavory, but the way he squeezes Dimitri back speaks much louder than his words do.

Sylvain and Felix step away from Ingrid and Dimitri’s tender hands and tender eyes, meeting in the middle of the altar. Sylvain grabs both of Felix’s hands in his own as Byleth continues.

“I think I’m supposed to say a prayer here,” Byleth says. Her flat expression adds a layer of humor to the situation that has Sylvain biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Well, I don’t know much about the Church or the Goddess. And before I met the people here, I didn’t know a lot about love, either.” Her eyes flicker to the ground for a moment before lifting back up to Sylvain and Felix. “I learned so much about my own heart from the people here, and from Sylvain and Felix.”

“Aw, Teach,” Sylvain whispers, voice cracking.

“Every time they fought, they came back together stronger. I hope someday I can love someone with the same depth that they love each other.” She swallows, clearly getting emotional, even if she doesn’t seem to be on the verge of tears like Sylvain is. Her eyes flicker to – _someone,_ but it’s too fast for Sylvain to keep track of who. “Thank you both for showing me what love can look like.” Clearing her throat, she adds, “You… you may now say your vows.”

“Felix,” Sylvain starts, squeezing Felix’s hands. Felix gazes up at him, his face tight with controlled emotion. Sylvain had so many lines prepared, so many romantic, poetic things to say to Felix, but they’ve all emptied from his mind under Felix’s golden stare. “I—you’ve always been at my side. Even when I was being stupid, hurting myself and the people around me, you never once left me.” Oh, no. He can’t start crying yet. He’s not done talking. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he continues. “You’re one of the only people who’s always loved me, but never tolerated my bullshit,” he says with a teary laugh. “Hell, you’re—you’re one of the only people who’s always loved me for who I am, not just what I pretend to be.”

Someone blows their nose in the crowd. Sylvain thinks it might be Annette, but he can’t tear his gaze away from Felix to look.

“We made a promise to die together,” Sylvain says, his voice breaking as his tears spill over. “And I want to keep that promise, but I want to add to it. We’ll live together, first. A long, happy life, until the both of us are old and gray. You’ve always had my heart, Felix, and I—I trust you to keep it safe, until the day we both die.”

He releases one of Felix’s hands to wipe at his eyes, sniffling. He nods at Felix to signal that he’s done. He has more he wants to say, but he thinks he won’t be able to keep his tears in long enough.

“Sylvain,” Felix says. His voice is quiet and hoarse. He’s holding back tears, and Sylvain gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I—I just—” He sniffles and violently wipes at his eyes with his wrists. “Ah, shit—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvain whispers.

“I want to live together with you,” Felix chokes out. “I—I want to grow old with you, and end these cursed bloodlines with you. Just—keep my heart safe too, you moron.” His voice breaks as he says, “You understand?”

“I understand,” Sylvain says, and Felix’s face scrunches up as he lets out a sob. Heedless of ceremony, Sylvain draws Felix against his chest and lets Felix hide against his neck, so the army can’t see his tears.

“You may exchange rings,” Byleth says softly. Sylvain wrestles one of Felix’s hands out from between their bodies and slides the ring onto his finger. He lets out a noise that’s half laugh and half sob when Felix doesn’t lift his head from Sylvain’s neck to put his own ring on Sylvain’s finger.

Sylvain remembers the weddings he’s been to being much longer than this one, but Byleth seems to realize that he and Felix are in no state to keep carrying on with ceremony, because she finishes, “I now pronounce you wed.”

Cheers rise up from the crowd, and Felix laughs wetly against Sylvain’s neck. “Everyone just wants to start drinking,” he says thinly, his shoulders still shaking.

“Probably,” Sylvain agrees, tucking his face against Felix’s hair and letting himself cry in earnest. Felix is his, and he’s Felix’s. They’ll be together until they die together, and with any luck, that death will be in bed together many, many years from now, not on a battlefield in this damned war.

“You two!” Dimitri’s wobbly voice is their only warning before they’re both swept up into an embrace. Dimitri is sobbing harder than the both of them combined, crushing them against his chest and weeping shamelessly. “I have no words to express my— my—” He sobs again. “My _joy_ at seeing your happiness!”

“Shut up, boar prince,” Felix snarls. It’s defanged by the way his voice is still shaking with tears, and the way he wraps his arms around Dimitri’s neck to hug him back.

“Aww, Dimi,” Sylvain says, aiming for _teasing_ but landing much, much closer to _genuinely emotional._ He slides one arm around Felix’s back, and the other around Dimitri’s shaking shoulders. 

It may not be an official wedding ceremony, but as far as Sylvain’s concerned, it will always be the real one – surrounded by their laughing friends, Dimitri’s arms around them, Felix and Sylvain both crying into his broad shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed! they do get officially married back in faerghus, and felix makes direct eye contact with margrave gautier while he drags out that wedding kiss way longer than he needs to


End file.
